Hobbits Across America

Bilbo sat silently smoking on his pipe, his red smoking jacket tied firmly. He enjoyed these times in the afternoons, when Frodo was away at the soda fountain. It was the only time he could get any peace and quiet.

"Meow," said the Persian cat that Frodo had named Elsie.

"Shhh!" Bilbo shushed.

Just then Frodo burst in through the walnut double doors of the study. "Bilby! Bilby! You'll never guess who I saw at the soda fountain!" Frodo shouted, disturbing the solitude that Bilbo was so enjoying.

"I told you not to call me that. It's Bilb-o. Bilb-o."

"Don't have a cow, big daddy," Frodo snipped back. "It was only the hippest cat around, Saruman. Oh, he's so dreamy. He's got such a classy chassis."

"I don't even know what you just said. You saw a hot girl at the soda fountain? Sarumina?" Bilbo offered, generally confused. Frodo tended to talk very quickly, trying to cram as much of the current slang into each sentence as possible.

"Yes, that's exactly what I said," Frodo sarcastimated. "Ugh, you're such a wet rag. I'm leaving. Where's that gardener? He'll swoon with me. He's always desperate to spend as much time with me as possible. What a kook!" Frodo skipped gaily out of the room, slamming the doors behind him.

Bilbo let out a large sigh. Why did he adopt Frodo? It was the biggest mistake of his overly long life.

~

That night, Frodo had a very odd dream. It was very hot in Atlanta in the summers, what with the boiling heat of racial oppression, and the fact that air conditioning was only in movie theaters, grocery stores, and Bilbo's bedroom. Frodo had asked for some in his room, but Bilbo had taken him to task.

"Gosh darnit, boy!" he crowed. "Do you know how much it would cost to air condition any more of this crumbling old plantation house?" It wasn't true. Bag End was in such good condition that Bilbo charged tour groups $1.50 a person to tour the staterooms and grounds, which included the world-renowned stables.

"Will you at least buy me a pony?" Frodo asked.

"Oh yes," Bilbo agreed. "You just join the football team and play your old uncle's number, 111, and I'll buy you the most beautiful pony this podunk backwater town had ever seen."

"In what way is Atlanta podunk or backwater?"

"Just do it or I'll send you to live with your Uncle Saradoc and his wife Esmeralda in Columbus."

"Why isn't her name Esmerelda? Why Esmeralda, with an A?"

"Just do it!"

Not shockingly, Frodo didn't make it onto the football team. Still, Bilbo bought him a Palomino, the grandness of which had never been seen from the Highlands to Buckhead. "But I don't like Palominos!" Frodo cried, and Bilbo shot the Palomino — whose name was "Gollum" — and sold its corpse to the local glue factor, Gluerific Gluemakers, for a tidy sum.

Meanwhile, in Frodo's dream...


A large wave had just crashed upon the deck of the ship Frodo was on. The winds were howling and rain was pouring like cats and dogs. Frodo ran from end to end of the expansive deck as the sound of metal creaking surrounded him. "What is the name of this ship?" he asked frantically, the wind almost drowning out his voice. Just then he noticed the name printed on one of the smokestacks. "The Titanic!" Frodo exasperated. "How did I get on here?"

Just then a wave crashed on top of him, sending him over the side of the ship and into the roaring ocean beneath. Instead of getting all wet and salty Frodo found himself in an incredibly plush bed. This bed was even plusher than his bed in the conscious world, which was incredibly plush. This bed was immense and fluffy and dressed in pink silk. Also on the bed with him was Saruman, his crush. "Saruman! Oh, this is much better," Frodo uttered seductively.

"Better than what?" Saruman asked, tossing his long blonde locks behind his ear.

"Oh, nothing. You wouldn't understand."

"No, probably not. Now let's get with it," Sarumon encouraged, removing his white cloak.

"Why are you wearing a cloak? This is the 1950s, not the Middle Ages, silly."

"Don't ask me, it's your dream." Saruman answered. "What am I supposed to do with this staff?" he asked, pulling a long white walking stick out from some folds of pink satin sheets.

"Um, I have a few ideas..." Frodo giggled.

Frodo awoke in a cold sweat. "Ahhhhhhhh!" he screeched. "Oh my, that was terrifying."

"What is it?" cried Bilbo, as he ran in to Frodo's bedchamber. "Has the help broken another of my priceless Faberge eggs, which cost exactly $4,500 a piece?"

"No, worse," Frodo moaned.

"The Baccarat?"

"No."

"The antique candlesticks that my ancestor, Bullroarer Took, brought over from Iron Gorge?"

"No, no," Frodo dismissed. "I just had a dream where I lost my maidenhood to Saruman. Do you think perhaps he likes me?"

Bilbo sighed and, removing his nightcap, sat in the old armchair by the fireplace. "Frodo, here's what I think: If you're one of those blasted fairies, I will spank you so hard you'll wish you had a horse carcass to cry into, which is a shame because I already sold that damn Palomino to those nice glue people."

"I'm not a fairy," Frodo scoffed. "Do you think I should wear a bonnet to market tomorrow?"

"Market? What century are you living in? Just go to the soda fountain like a normal kid."

"But I don't want to go to the soda fountain! Ice cream makes me fat, and that waitress is such a beyotch!"

"I think Sam is going," Bilbo said, ignoring everything Frodo said. "Why don’t you go with him?

"Sam is going?" Frodo asked, his interest piqued. "Well, okay. But you have to give me some money. I don't want to spend all of the $6 I made grading papers for teacher."

"All right."


~

Later that day Sam and Frodo made their way down to the soda fountain on their bikes. Sam's was practically an antique and it was a wonder it made it to the soda fountain in one piece. Frodo had a light yellow Schwinn with a white wicker basket on the front handles. He liked to put fresh-cut wildflowers in it sometimes. This was not one of those times, which greatly relieved Sam.

"I'll have a chocolate malt," Sam said to Eowyn, a girl both Sam and Frodo knew from high school. She worked at the soda fountain because her family was poor. Her father was dead and she lived with her uncle, Theoden King, who was known around town as the local drunk. Theoden was often seen in the company of Grima Wormtongue, who ran a chain of successful fast food establishments in the area. Grima was known to be less than scrupulous and Frodo was pretty sure that because of this Eowyn was not one to be associated with. Also, she smelled funny and instead of poodle skirts she wore ferret skirts which weren't nearly as cool.

"And I'll have a strawberry shake!" Frodo piped in, glaring awkwardly past Sam's bulbous head at a greasy spot on Eowyn's apron. "You've got a little schmutz," Frodo said.

"What's schmutz?" Eowyn asked, twirling limp and greasy hair around her gnarly finger.

"Oh, you are so unsophisticated, Eowyn. They shouldn't even let you work at a place like this," Frodo shot back. She teared up.

"Um, I don't know what schmutz is either," Sam said, trying to make the situation less awful.

"Yeah, well, it doesn't matter," Frodo said, getting frustrated, "because I like you and I don't like her."

"You like me?" Sam asked, getting his hopes up. Eowyn ran into the back to cry and make their shakes.

"Yeah, I like you," Frodo confessed. "Do you like me?"

"No," Sam said. "That's what makes this so awkward."

"Not even a little tiny bit?"

"How shall I put this in a way you would understand?"

"I'm not stupid," Frodo protested, digging some gunk from his nail with a toothpick. "Let’s listen to some Patsy Cline on the jukebox. Do you have a nickel?"

"I don't have anything. I can barely afford this milkshake. I'm poor. That's why I'm your gardener."

"We should also be lab partners."

"Yeah, okay, I'll get on that. Listen, it's not going to work out between us."

Frodo's happy face fell. "Why not?" he moaned. Eowyn sauntered up.

"Here are your shakes," she said.

"His was a malt, you ugly freak."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm repulsed by girls as it is, and you're possibly the most repulsive. Get out of my sight!" Frodo commanded.

"I hope you're going to tip her well enough," Sam mumbled, utterly embarrassed.

"What?"

"See, this is sort of why we can't be friends."

"Should I have been meaner to her?" Sam groaned.

~

Bilbo was sitting in his study in his smoking jacket, reading the Saturday Evening Post. "How'd it go?" he asked. "Are you normal yet?"

"He hates me!" Frodo pouted. "Hey, you know that magazine is on the decline, right?"

"What happened?"

"He seems to think I'm cruel and demanding. What is wrong with that noodle-brained lackey! I mean, all I want him for is a quick tumble."

"You're looking for a wrestling buddy?" Bilbo asked. "You know, I was quite the tussler in my day."

"Yeah, I'm sure you were. God, you are so oblivious."

"Oblivious to what?"

"Oh, nothing. Anyway, I'm going to go to bed and fantasize about boys. I'll see you later."

"Yes, you do that. Goodnight, Frodo."

"Nighty-night, Daddy-o."

That night Frodo had another strange dream. This time he was in a meadow full of wildflowers, running naked in between Sam and Saruman. Saruman had his stupid white staff that he often had in Frodo's dreams with him. Sam was wearing a straw hat and nothing else. He was huffing and puffing, trying to keep up with Saruman's long strides. Frodo was having an easier time of it, because he wasn't nearly as fat as Sam.

"Frodo," Saruman cooed, "I want to take you away with me and love you forever and ever."

"Sarumun," Frodo responded, "I want you to take me. Ravish me, Saruman, you big sexy stud."

"I would, but Sam's here."

"Just let him watch or something. I don't know."

"No, he's a huge turnoff. You have to get rid of him."

Frodo looked over at Sam who just gave him huge puppy eyes.

"I can't do that!" Frodo exclaimed.

"It's either him or me," Saruman commanded.

"Well, I choose... I choose..."

"FRODO," a voice boomed. Frodo was awakened from his blissful and erotic slumber to find Bilbo standing over his bed. "Good gracious, boy!" he tut-tutted. "It's 8:15 a.m. hundred hours on the dot! It's time to go to church!"

"Do we have to?" Frodo groaned sleepily. "I was having the greatest dream."

"Oh, yes we do," Bilbo sassed. "You've got to pray to God that he'll take care of your little eccentricity." Frodo and Bilbo looked at each other for a moment.

"What eccentricity?" Frodo asked.

"Oh, you know how you're constantly indoors reading books and wistfully daydreaming instead of out there at the soda fountain making strong male bonds and romancing a cute little co-ed."

"I'll tell you something about strong male bonds," Frodo muttered under his breath. Then, louder, he said, "Why are you so happy to go to church all of a sudden?"

"I'm courting the minister's wife," Bilbo said shockingly.

"But she's married to the minister!" Frodo said, shocked.

"Yeah, well, what are you going to say about that, huh, mister?"

Frodo thought about this. He wasn't sure what he was going to say about it. Should he sell this information to the local paper's gossip column for a nice fee, or just let it slip out at one of those boring school socials Bilbo always made him go to? And even better, would Sam be at church? Frodo figured Sam was probably religious. He would have to act very pious if he wanted to get into Sam's pants.

~

Sure enough, Sam was at church, but he was with his awful father, the Gaffer, who always gave Frodo the dirtiest looks. Frodo kept winking at Sam throughout the service, but Sam, oblivious as always, failed to notice. The sermon that day just happened to be on the sin of sodomy, and all that talk of man laying with man really got Frodo hot and horny. When he saw Sam get up to go to the bathroom he decided to follow him out.

"Sam!" Frodo whispered loudly once they were in the hallway.

"Hi, Frodo. I didn't know you went to church," Sam replied.

"Oh, yeah, all the time. I love Jesus and all his little friends."

"Um, ok. Look, I've really gotta pee. I'll see you later," Sam said, walking toward the bathroom.

"Wait!" Frodo addled, "There's a much less crowded bathroom in the basement. It's only a little bit farther. I'll show you if you want."

"Okay," Sam said, making a huge mistake.

"Great, come this way." Frodo gave Sam come-hither eyes, which Sam purposely ignored.

~

Down in the basement, Frodo led Sam into temptation, which was conveniently located in the first broom closet he found. "In here!" Frodo yelled, yanking Sam into the little tiny space by the sleeve of Sam's Sunday best (which was totally ugly and Frodo thought it should be called Sam's Sunday mediocrest).

"I don't think this is a bathroom," Sam mumbled as Frodo shoved a bunch of crap in front of the door so Sam couldn't escape, a word which he pronounced "excape" on purpose because he thought it was real cute to do so.

"Oh, maybe it's not." Frodo shrugged.

"Look, Frodo, I really have to urinate," Sam said sadly.

"Urinate in this great ... bucket," Frodo said saucily as he found and hoisted up a bucket.

"But there's a mop in it," Sam rationalized.

"You can urinate on me," Frodo logicatilistitiated.

"Uh..."

"Look, you know we're both down here to get some play. Could I have made it any more obvious?" Sam shook his head. "Now open up that stupid mouth of yours and give me what I need." Frodo stepped out of his pants to reveal a pair of leopard-print silk boxers.

"I'm not..." Sam began, but Frodo cut him off.

"You're not what, not gay? I hear that one all the time. Don't pretend like you're not interested in me."

"I never said I wasn't gay," Sam responded. "I don't know what or who I am. My sexuality is still being shaped. I jut don't like you."

"Bullcock, everyone likes Frodo," said Frodo, bending over to wiggle his bottom in Sam's face.

"Please stop," said Sam. "You're not a nice boy."

"I'll be as nice as you want," Frodo offered.

"All right," Sam sighed, defeated. "I'll let you go down on me. Is that what you want?"

"I want something in return," Frodo bargained.

"I'll let you do it again?" Sam asked.

Frodo thought for a moment. "Deal!" he finally accepted.

~

After their little rendezvous in the church basement things between Frodo and Sam became very awkward. To Frodo it seemed like Sam was avoiding him. To Sam it seemed like Frodo was a creepy stalker. The truth was Frodo had begun some creepy stalker-like habits. One time Frodo had entered Sam's bedroom on the false pretense that he had left some homework there. The Gaffer had let him in, telling him Sam wasn't home right now and to make it quick. Frodo already knew that Sam wasn't home because Sam had choir practice every Thursday at four.

Frodo entered Sam's room where he looked for little things he could steal and no one would notice: a paperclip, a dirty sock, that sort of thing. Once he got home, Frodo unloaded his bounty into his closet, where he started to build a sort of shrine to Sam around a photograph from the local paper that Frodo found from the time Sam had rescued a cat from a tree.

When Elronda, the maid, stumbled upon the shrine during her regular cleaning duties she approached Frodo. "Frodo, baby? What'chu been doin' here? This just ain’t right, sunshine. I'm gonna throw this away."

"No! I love him!" Frodo protested.

"Look, sugar, it's just not healthy to be buildin' no shrines, honey. Why don't 'cha go talk to him and explain how you feel?"

"I can't! I don't think he feels the same way about me."

"Oh, sugar, of course he does. You're a beautiful young woman."

"Um..."

"I gotta go, honey. The cellar won't scrub itself."

"Oh, Elronda, you're the best!"

~

"Sam?" Frodo asked, entering the study room in the library where Sam always studied his maths.

"Ah!" Sam cried. "Holy Father, you have to stoop doing that!"

"Doing what?" Frodo asked creepily, as he twisted a napkin so tightly his fingers were beginning to bleed.

"That!" Sam yelled again, pointing out the bloody fingers.

"Oh, that's nothing," Frodo pooh-poohed, waving away his troubles like so many insignificant ants at one of his long-lost mother's Sisterhood Society picnics. "You see, I have a bigger problem."

"Yeah, tell me about it," Sam sighed. "I want my stuff back. That rubber band ball was finally getting big enough to enter into the rubber band ball competition at the State Fair next month."

"No, I don't mean that."

"So, I can have my things back?"

Frodo thought for a minute. "No. I'm going to enter that rubber band ball in the state fair myself. I've been adding to it, you know, ever-so-slowly but surely. I mean, there's an honest-to-goodness $12 prize in that contest. And anyway, my problem is this." Frodo cleared his throat and got on his knees.

"Frodo, not here!" Sam said, shocked.

"No, silly. You see, I'm in love with you."

"You are?" Sam asked. "Oh, Frodo, that's so sweet. This is a side of you I've never seen. I mean, I've seen the backside a lot, mostly while my throbbing member is in your soft little bow of a mouth."

"So, can we go out on a real date?"

Sam didn't know. Frodo kind of disgusted him. But Sam was a decent guy, and he felt like if he Frodo and were hooking up on a regular basis, he owed it to Frodo to give it a go. "Okay. Let's meet at the soda fountain. Wear something purty."

"You mean pretty?"

"Yeah."

"Oh boy! I'll be there at 8 p.m. tonight!" Frodo was very excited. He finally had Sam in his clutches, and now the other boy would never excape!

~

That night Frodo worked very hard to look his purty-est. He went up into the attic where he found an old makeup box. Most of the antebellum makeup he found was all dried out, but the eyeliner and blush were still usable. He tried to apply it lightly and subtly so that it wouldn't be obvious that he was wearing makeup. His attempts, however, were a failure, and unbeknownst to him he looked like a total harlot.

He jumped on his bike, putting his hair back in a scarf so that the wind would not disturb its Aqua Net-ed perfection. Down the hill he went until he was at the soda fountain a few minutes later. He had pedaled very slowly, petrified to break a sweat. He was really trying to look his best.

Frodo walked inside. Sam wasn't there yet. 'That's okay,' Frodo thought to himself. 'I'll just get a chocolate malt and wait for him.'

Eowyn glared at him, ready to throw a temper tantrum at the slightest encouragement. "What do you want, Frodo?"

"I'll have a chocolate malt, you." Frodo thromustigated pompously.

"Okay, that will 35 cents, you big jerk."

"Hey, don't call me that, you horrible bitch," Frodo said, throwing 35 cents at her face.

"Ow!" Eowyn yelped, gathering the money from the floor.

"Just give me the damn malt," Frodo demanded. She turned around and prepared his malt. "Mmm. " Frodo thrummed as he sipped on his deliciously thick malt. He sat down at a booth for two near the corner. 'Where's Sam?' he thought to himself, all the while sipping intently.

Half an hour later Sam still hadn't arrived. Frodo's malt was long gone and his century-old makeup was starting to run. 'Hmmmph!' He thought, 'Nobody stands up Frodo Baggins and gets away with it!' He picked himself up and stomped daintily outside where he mounted his bike and started riding it straight to Sam's humble abode.

Frodo banged on the door of the peach-colored house. It was on a hilly street in a quiet neighborhood. The door swung open to reveal a pretty girl of about 20. "Hi," she said. "I like your rouge."

"I'm not wearing rouge," Frodo corrected. "I'm a boy. My cheeks are just rosy on their own merits."

"Uh huh." The girl gave Frodo a weird look. "You here to see my pa?"

"Um, no. I'm here to see Sam."

"Oh! You must be his little friend. I'm Sam's sister Daisy."

"Hi, Daisy," said Frodo. "That's a stupid name."

"Okay. Well, you can't see Sam. He's got a bad case of the dropsy."

"The dropsy!" Frodo cried, not knowing what in the heck dropsy was. "How atrocious!"

"I know. He'll call you when he's all better. Thanks for stopping by." Frodo slunk away as Daisy shut the door behind him.

~

Sam didn't call the next day. He didn't call the day after that. At dinner, Frodo was miserable. Bilbo noticed that he was pushing his hushpuppies around his place and hadn't even touched his chitlins. "Is something the matter with you, boy?"

"I think Sam hates me," Frodo moaned.

"Maybe it's because you've been wearing that fruity makeup lately."

"I'm not wearing makeup!" Frodo protested. "I'm just naturally rosy."

"Frodo, I've known you since you were orphaned. Well, since you came to live here because no one else wanted you, anyway. I think I can tell when you're wearing makeup."

"Okay, maybe I am wearing makeup!" Frodo moaned sobbily. "But it's only because ... because..." He sniffed. "It's just because I want to be pretty!" Frodo threw his plate at Bilbo's face and ran out of the outsize dining room sobbing.

~

The next day a telegram arrived for Frodo. It was from Daisy describing in detail the state of Sam's dropsy. "Ew!" said Frodo after reading the telegram out loud to a disinterested Bilbo, emphasizing every "stop" as if it were the end of the world.

"And why did you read that to me?" Bilbo mumbled, puffing at his pipe.

"Look, I think that that bitch Daisy is lying to me. I think that she found out about Sam and I's relationship and now she's trying to split us up."

"Wow." Bilbo said, raising his copy of the Atlanta Sentinel in order to block his face from view.

"I'm going to bike down there and give her a piece of my mind. That's what I'll do."

"Great," Bilbo barely intoned.

Frodo marched off to his Schwinn and biked down the hill. He didn't even put on any eyeliner, he was in that much of a rush. He knocked on the pine door to Sam's father's house. It was sort of a shack, but a little nicer.

Daisy answered the door, wearing a dress that cut off just above the knee. It had a pattern that consisted of brown and azure daisies overlapping. Frodo kind of liked it, but his unsubstantiated hatred for Daisy clouded his normally impeccable fashion sense, causing him to dislike it immediately only because it was draped on her repulsive frame. "Oh, hello, Frodo," Daisy said perkily.

"Hello, Daisy," Frodo down tempo-ed.

"Are you here to see Sam?" she asked, even though it was a stupid question.

"Of course I am, you dolt! I don't care what you say, I want to see him now, dropsy or no dropsy."

"Actually, he's made a miracle recovery. A preacher from New Macon cured him, good as new. You can go see him right now, he's resting in his room."

"Oh," said Frodo, pushing past her.

"Sam!" Frodo squealed, slamming into the cramped bedroom that was actually a closet under the stairs with a bed with plaid flannel sheets and in the bed was a sleeping lump of a high schooler.

"Huhzuh?" asked the now-awakened lump.

"It's me, Sam," Frodo cooed, plopping himself down on the bed and stroking Sam's feet. "Oh, you poor darling. I'm going to make you all better. I think I have some special medicine here for you." Frodo kind of awkwardly lifted his groin up off of the bed and indicated his penile area.

"I don't want to fellate you," Sam said. "I told you, you do me, I think about Marilyn Monroe."

"Ew!" Frodo cried. "She has a bosom!"

"I know," Sam sighed. "And what a bosom!"

"Listen, I hope you're okay. I've missed you while you've been ill."

Sam groaned. "Frodo, I haven't been ill."

"Then why didn't you come to our date?"

"Well ... oh, this is so difficult to say."

"Will closing your eyes help you say it?" Frodo asked, clearly not fearing anything close to the worst.

"Oh, that sounds like a good idea." He squeezed his eyes shut. "It's like you're not even here! This was a great idea. Listen, I'm sorry, but I have to say it: I totally hate you." Sam opened his eyes. "Are we okay now?"


"I know, but I don't care, I just want your sex." Frodo admitted while not really admitting anything because it was blatantly obvious to both him and Sam.

"Yeah, but I even hate you sexually."

"Are you sure it isn't because you actually love me?"

"Positive."

"Well, I'm going to be totally mature about this and leave without throwing a temper tantrum."

"Really?"

"Yes, you will never hear from me again, Sam Gamgee. I've been humiliated enough. But just you remember that I'm the one in charge of the most likelies for our yearbook, and don't be surprised when you don't like what you read."

"Fine, just get out before I vomit."

"Goodbye, Sam." Frodo picked himself up and with his head held ridiculously high exited the bedroom, only tripping over a rollerskate once on his way out. As soon as he exited Casa de Gamgee he began sobbing hysterically. He continued to sob all the way back to Bag End where he burst through the burled walnut doors of Bilbo's study with such force that the draft from opening the doors blew the top three pages off of the stack of papers that Bilbo called his memoirs. "Oh, Bilbo. Sam dumped me."

"Frodo, the end of a friendship isn't a dumping," Bilbo chided, restacking his memoirs with care and placing a large shoe on top of them.

"We weren't friends, we were lovers!"

"Frodo, you aren't making any sense. Here take these valium."

"Okay," Frodo said, accepting the offered little yellow pills and downing them without any water. "I'm going to cry myself to sleep. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Bilbo said, only afterwards noticing that the clock said that it was only 2:30 p.m.

When Frodo awoke 12 hours later, he noticed that it was dark out. "Darn it all to hell," he slurred. "I have the strangest taste in my mouth. Well, not so much a taste, really. It's more like my mouth has just entirely lost all of its own saliva. God, my mouth is dry." Frodo realized then that there was no one in the room with him, and he had been entirely alone just like he would always be alone because he was an utterly worthless wretch.

Suddenly, out of the corner or his eye, he noticed a white note taped to the window. "How very odd," Frodo said. "Oh, right. No one's here. Well, I'm just going crazy."

"Yes, you sure are," agreed Frodo's alarm clock.

Frodo stepped over the pile of Lincoln Logs on his bedroom floor, which were scattered around his polar bear-skin rug and stumbled toward the window. He'd really been working hard to construct that 1/12th model of the Log Cabin Lincoln was Born In but Elsie the cat had knocked it over that morning when Frodo was yelling at her for shedding on his caftan.

"Dear me!" Frodo exclaimed when he had secured the note. All it said was, "I'm sorry." But it was still the greatest thing that ever happened to Frodo, and he died of AIDS in 1986 after moving to San Francisco and becoming a glass blower.


THE END